Some summers don’t announce themselves. They don’t arrive with sudden heatwaves. They just sort of slip in. Quietly. This one did too. I think it happened while I was half-asleep, with the window cracked open and some old Hindi song playing faintly from the building next door.
I didn’t plan anything. I haven’t planned anything in a while. I noticed the mangoes at the fruit stall on my street last week. Didn’t buy them. I simply couldn’t. Mangoes are too close to us. Watermelons too. And cucumbers, even cucumbers, make me feel like I am trespassing on her memories.
June used to be different. Duggu used to be here. The fan would rattle above us as we lay side by side on the floor, sweaty and content. She’d talk about doing nothing, and somehow it always felt like we were doing everything. The apartment felt full. Not with stuff. But with us.
Now, I sit in my seat. I only drink Iced Americano. I pretend I am observing the world when really, I am just avoiding my reflection. It is just the slow unspooling of a life once shared. Ghosts in everyday objects. In the background music of cafes. In kitchen drawers that still have her favorite spoons.
I try not to make a big deal out of it. But sometimes I miss her so much.
Sometimes I remember how she looked at me when I wasn’t looking, or the exact sound she made when the first bite of mango was too sweet.
This June feels slower. Like it knows I’m not ready. It’s not cruel. Just quiet.
And maybe that’s what moving on is. Not a clean break. Not some cinematic closure. Just another June. With different silences.
Just summer. With and without her.
~ A
Published in Hello, Love
Love changes us. Love makes us human.
